


the only happiness

by Potrix



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Boys In Love, Coming Out, Confusion, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, News Media, One Night Stands, POV Kent Parson, Paparazzi, Pining, Post-Canon, Queer Themes, Team as Family, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: It takes less than a week for Kent to snap.He’d expected to get some extra attention during the off-season, given Jack’s little stunt after winning the Cup, but even after over half a decade in the NHL, he’d been completely taken aback by the sheer intensity of the entirety of the hockey media descending on him.Getting drafted first overall didn’t hold a candle to being the former best friend of the league’s first openly queer player, apparently.





	the only happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fagsymbiote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fagsymbiote/gifts).



> My [kentparsonbirthdaybash](https://kentparsonbirthdaybash.tumblr.com/) gift for [dogstarblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogstarblack), who really only wanted Kent to be happy. It takes him a while, because he's still a jock, but he gets there in the end. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Huge thanks to [auripigmentum](http://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/) for the hand-holding and butt-kicking, and [lattice-heart](http://lattice-heart.tumblr.com/) for the amazing last-minute beta work! All remaining mistakes and extra commas are mine.

•◦• there is only one happiness in this life; to love and be loved •◦•

It takes less than a week for Kent to snap. 

He’d expected to get some extra attention during the off-season, given Jack’s little stunt after winning the Cup, but even after over half a decade in the NHL, he’d been completely taken aback by the sheer intensity of the entirety of the hockey media descending on him. 

Getting drafted first overall didn’t hold a candle to being the former best friend of the league’s first openly queer player, apparently. 

Kent’s phone had started blowing up pretty much instantly, as soon as the clip of Jack kissing his boyfriend at center ice had hit the web. He’d just turned it off, eventually, which is why he hadn’t seen the dozens of messages and missed calls from his agent and Aces PR, and had been entirely unprepared for the horde of reporters and paparazzi lying in wait in front of his apartment the next morning.

He’d turned right around, after nearly being blinded by dozens of flashes going off at the same time, and hurried back inside.

And it had only gotten worse from there. While the media had, more or less, respected his privacy at first—or, at least, been wary enough about trespassing—and stayed outside his building, they’d quickly grown impatient when Kent hadn’t shown his face again. They couldn’t actually get to his floor without a keycard for the elevator, but the police had been called on day two, after several of Kent’s neighbours had complained about the people lingering in the halls and the foyer. 

The guy trying to sneak pictures of Kent from the roof of the apartment building across the street with a telescope lense had been the last straw, and Kent had agreed to get a temporary security detail to be able to go about his daily life, much to the relief of his agent. 

Kent’s still followed around, even with two huge—and that says a lot, coming from someone who’s surrounded by hockey players for most of the year—bodyguards flanking him, but he can at least leave his apartment again without absolutely getting mobbed, thanks to Admir and Denis. 

It grates on him, though, the longer it goes on, makes him nervous and twitchy, and if this is what it’s like for him? Then Kent can’t even imagine what Jack and his boyfriend are going through. The kid probably doesn’t even have any media training or anything. 

But, for the most part, Kent tries to ignore the chaos around him, and is even moderately successful at it for a while. He keeps his head down, only leaves his apartment when he absolutely has to, and doesn’t answer his phone for anyone but his agent, family, and a few select friends. 

Even during the off-season he can’t let himself go, though, and his home gym only gets him so far. The crowd outside his building has died down a little by day six, but there are still enough people there that Kent’s car is followed across town to his regular workout spot, where even more paps are already waiting.

Gritting his teeth, Kent parks and gets out of the car, head ducked, trusting Denis and Admir to get him inside safely. They’re almost at the door when someone calls out, somehow loud enough to be heard above the rest of the shouting people, “Kent, in hindsight, how do you feel about having shared a locker room with Zimmermann? How do you feel about that, now that you know?” 

Later, Kent honestly can’t tell what it is that makes him stop, and turn to stare at the reporter, who immediately, almost giddily shoves a microphone in his face. It’s nothing Kent hasn’t heard before, in some variation or other. Concerning Jack, yes, over the last week, but also before that. Every time the Aces have a Pride night, or when someone does a new video for You Can Play, and he’s asked about potentially having someone gay on his team. Hell, he’s heard worse in locker rooms, on the ice, from opponents and teammates alike, slurs and other cringeworthy shit just blared out without any thought or consideration, jokingly or even entirely serious. This is hockey, after all. 

And Kent’s learned to deal with it, to let it roll off his back. He’s had to, to get where he is now.

Maybe, it’s the terrible week he’s been having, or he’s starting to go crazy from being holed up in his apartment, or—

Kent doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what makes him open his mouth, makes him say, “Would be pretty hypocritical of me to have a problem with that. I mean, as a gay man, and, you know. Just a mostly decent human being, I support Jack, always, one-hundred percent. And, uh, anyone else who’s in a similar situation. So, yeah.”

It’s not the most coherent he’s ever been in front of a camera, but also not the worst thing he’s ever said to the media, probably. It’ll have to do, anyway, because there’s no way he can take it back now. 

He uses the brief moment of stunned confusion to slip away, blocking out the yelling once it starts up again, and instead carefully counts his breaths. Only, the panic he’s waiting for doesn’t come. He’s shaky, adrenaline spiked high, and he knows Felix from PR will have his head for this, but he also feels—lighter, somehow. 

It’s a like a weight he hadn’t even realised he was carrying around has been lifted off his shoulders, Kent thinks, as he warms up on one of the bikes. Being closeted hadn’t been fun, by any stretch of the word, but it had always seemed worth it, to him. Necessary, to be able to keep playing. 

No strings attached sex in cities where no one knew his face, other people in the closet, some friends from back home during summers, escorts who knew how to be discreet for the right amount of money—it had been enough, for Kent. He’d play, do his job, and then have the rest of his life after his career was over to figure out what being gay meant to him, exactly. That had always been the plan, the only option, and Kent had been fine with that.

Or so he’d thought. 

But then Jack—always fucking Jack, of course—had waltzed in, and turned everything upside down like it was nothing, like he could have both hockey and his boy, like it was that easy. Like it could work. 

And now Kent’s out, too, or will be soon enough.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Kent groans, rubbing at his sweaty face with his towel.

He can feel himself smile, though, and it’s—it might be okay. Good, even, in time. 

His post-workout, post-revelation high lasts him until he walks back into his apartment, and sees Swoops leaning against his breakfast bar, arms crossed, and looking uncharacteristically serious. 

After a beat of awkward silence, Kent clears his throat, and goes to get himself some water out of the fridge, asking, “You want something to drink?” 

Swoops doesn’t answer, so Kent grabs a bottle for himself, shuts the fridge again, and hops up onto the counter opposite Swoops. Kent is in the middle of gulping down his water when Swoops blurts out, “Deadspin, man. I had to find out from fucking Deadspin, Parse.”

Kent swallows, wincing. He glances over at Swoops, but his face is still unreadable, so Kent looks away again, picking at the label on his bottle. He notices, almost absently, that his fingers are trembling. 

Swoops swears, sudden and violent, straightening up, and Kent freezes. 

“Swoops,” he says, heart in his throat, but then Swoops’ arms are around him, reeling him in, and Kent lets out a shuddering breath, free hand curling into Swoops’ shirt as he buries his face in Swoops’ shoulder. 

“Jesus, kid,” Swoops mutters, voice cracking, but Kent can’t help but snort because Swoops is barely four years older than him, for fuck’s sake. “Don’t snort at me, asshole, we’re having a moment here.”

“Oh, really?” Kent teases, huffing out a laugh when Swoops pinches his side. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Swoops moves back, then, and Kent’s startled to see that his eyes are wet. In all the years of knowing him, Kent has seen Swoops openly cry exactly three times; after each of their Cup wins, and then again last year, when his daughter had been born. He’s not really sure how to feel about being the cause for the fourth time, but he’s oddly touched by it all the same. 

“Parser,” Swoops swallows hard, obviously trying to find the right words. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, man, no, it’s not—”

“It is, though,” Swoops cuts in, looking pained. “You didn’t think you could tell me, that’s on me. And I’m sorry.” 

Kent’s quick to shake his head. “Only my family knew, no one else. It wasn’t about you, I swear. I just,” he shrugs, breathing out a humourless little laugh, “didn’t want to deal with—with all of it, really. Not yet, not while I was still playing.”

Swoops raises a skeptical eyebrow at that. “Sounds like a healthy coping mechanism.” 

“We’re hockey players, man,” Kent points out, which makes Swoops snort this time, and admit, “Fair enough, yeah.”

“Hey.” Kent gives Swoops’ leg a light kick. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad. That you know now.”

They look at each other for a moment longer, then Swoops chuckles, and wipes at his eyes. “Okay, that’s enough of that touchy-feely bullshit for today. Wanna order pizza and play some Call of Duty? Cassie isn’t expecting me back for another couple of hours.”

Kent kicks Swoops again, for good measure, before sliding back down from the counter. “Yeah, man. Sounds great.” 

He doesn’t check his phone again until he’s getting ready for bed that night, surprised to see Jack’s name pop up between the hundreds upon hundreds—holy shit, that’s going to be a bitch to sort through—other notifications. He hesitates for only a moment before opening the text from Jack.

**_Thanks, Kenny._ **

It’s just two words, but it feels like a lot more, somehow.

Kent bites his lip, considering, before typing out his reply. **_Anytime._** ** _ ** __**_**

**_**__** _ **

It feels like an end to something. It feels like a fresh start.

**_**__** _ **

**_****_**

**_**__** _ **

*** * ***

The good thing about Kent’s impromptu coming out is that it manages to shift some of the media’s attention away from Jack. And even more onto Kent, which is less fun.

**_**__** _ **

Kent tries to use that as an excuse to skip the NHL Awards, but, according to Felix from PR, “People who throw me under the bus like that don’t get to make decisions about their summer activities, even if they aren’t nominated. Suck it up,” and so Kent goes. Reluctantly, he wants that to be known, but he does go. 

**_**__** _ **

He doesn’t bring a date because, well. There isn’t actually anyone for him to bring. He’s taken his brother and sister-in-law, before, and his nephew and nieces, but there’s no way he’s putting any of them into the spotlight right now. Ana María’s had to set her Instagram account to private already, because of him. 

**_**__** _ **

The identity of Kent’s—nonexistent—date is the hot topic, though, which means Kent’s grumpy and cranky before he even steps foot on the red carpet. He smiles and waves, but doesn’t stop for any pictures or interviews. Felix from PR had agreed to that, at least, after getting tired of Kent’s whining. 

**_**__** _ **

And the whole thing isn’t as awful as Kent’d feared it would be, either. There are the usual, forced jokes and little clips showing why none of them went into acting, and the speech about inclusivity and acceptance they’ve added this year is supremely awkward for everyone involved, but apart from that, things go about as well as always. 

**_**__** _ **

Some of the guys he knows personally come up to him at the afterparty to offer congratulations and sympathy, and it’s—it’s good, obviously, but also a little overwhelming. Jack isn’t among them, but he catches Kent’s eye at one point, and they share a little nod and a smile. 

**_**__** _ **

Still, Kent’s glad once it’s late enough to leave without it seeming like he’s fleeing. Even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. 

**_**__** _ **

And he almost makes it, too, until he’s walking across the foyer towards the exit, and gets stopped by a familiarly accented, “Parson, wait up. You have second?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent could probably outrun Alexei Mashkov, but he definitely doesn’t want pictures of that getting printed. So he turns around with a casual, “Sure, man, what’s up?” only to be swooped up into a tight, full body hug. “Uhm. Dude, what?” 

**_**__** _ **

There haven’t been any more picked-up-by-the-scruff-of-his-neck incidents, so far, but there’s a vast difference between being kinda-sorta friendly-ish with each other on the ice, and Kent nearly getting his rib cage crushed by 200 pounds of Russian forward. 

**_**__** _ **

Mashkov steps back, but keeps his hands on Kent’s shoulders, smiling widely. “Glad I’m catch you. Want to say thank you, for what you do for Zimmboni. Was good thing to do.” 

**_**__** _ **

“Oh.” Kent squints at Mashkov, not really sure what to say. “I mean, like. I didn’t plan it or anything? Obviously. But, uh, I’m glad it’s been helping.”

**_**__** _ **

“Help lots,” Mashkov insists, still beaming. “Is different, when is not team, you know? Team is supposed to support, not say anything to his face, even if maybe think. Aces captain support? Is huge!” 

**_**__** _ **

Mashkov claps him on the shoulder before pulling his hands back, and Kent stumbles a little, because Mashkov’s a fucking giant. It makes Mashkov grin, and then laugh when Kent glares at him. 

**_**__** _ **

“Come on,” Mashkov says, and bodily turns a squawking Kent back towards the exit, like a total asshole. “I’m buy you drink. I know place.”

**_**__** _ **

Kent puts up a token protest, but it’s mostly for show. He wants to get out of here, sure, but he doesn’t actually feel like heading home yet. He’d thought about going out with some of his league buddies, but they’ve all been extremely careful with him all evening—hockey players and emotions put together is always a shitshow—and that’s actually the last thing he wants right now. 

**_**__** _ **

But Mashkov is chattering on about some of tonight’s winners as he steers Kent out of the hotel, now that he’s said what he wanted to say about the Gay Thing™, and it’s refreshing. And it’ll definitely look less pathetic if he doesn’t party it up in Vegas all by his lonesome self. 

**_**__** _ **

They end up at a pub a little off the Strip that Kent’s never been to before, which isn’t what Kent expected, but he immediately likes the place. It’s small in a cosy, homey way, they’ve got his favourite beer on tap, and the music’s just loud enough that it won’t make talking over it annoying. 

**_**__** _ **

Mashkov buys Kent the promised drink, and then they decide to order burgers, too, because it’s been a couple of hours since dinner, and hockey player appetites don’t have an off-season. Conversations flows easily, which is mostly due to Alexei—”Stop call me Mashkov, make me feel like I’m talk to Coach!”—who turns out to be a genuinely funny, if a little dorky, guy. 

**_**__** _ **

Not that Kent minds; it’s kind of cute. 

**_**__** _ **

All of him is, really, Kent notices as he watches Alexei gesture wildly with a fry to emphasise his point about the shitty hors d’oeuvre from earlier. Like, objectively speaking, he’s got a nose that’s too big for his face—not helped by the fact that it’s been broken a couple of times—and his eyes are sort of droopy, like he’s about to nod off any second. He’s lanky, despite his not unimpressive bulk, his fashion sense is a disaster, and his lips are a mess, all dry and chapped. 

**_**__** _ **

Somehow, all put together, it works for him, though.

**_**__** _ **

Alexei trails off slowly, then, which is about when Kent realises he’s been watching Alexei’s mouth move for fuck knows how long. Staring at it. He can feel himself blush, but Alexei only smirks, looking incredibly smug, before launching into a hymn of praise about the sauce on his burger, which is a house special, and, apparently, the absolute best thing ever. 

**_**__** _ **

They’re both leaning back in their seats, comfortably full, plates cleared, when Alexei asks, “You want other round?” And then, before Kent has the chance to answer, he continues, “Or, maybe, want have, uh. How you call? Nightcap? Back at hotel?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Uhm,” because that sounded suspiciously like a come-on. He has to clear his suddenly dry throat before he can ask, “Is that—are you—what are you trying to say, here, man?” 

**_**__** _ **

“I’m mean,” Alexei says, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then releases it again, turned wet and shiny, “if you want come back to hotel, make comfortable, have one more drink. And maybe more? Only if you want, of course.”

**_**__** _ **

“Yes,” Kent blurts, before his brain can catch up with his gut. For once, they actually agree, though, so it’s fine. “Yes, that—that sounds good.” 

**_**__** _ **

The drink doesn’t happen. The moment the door to Alexei’s hotel room shuts behind them, Kent turns to push him up against it, goes up on his tiptoes, and kisses him. Alexei makes a surprised but pleased noise in the back of his throat, and doesn’t miss a beat, hands shooting up to Kent’s face, kissing back eagerly. 

**_**__** _ **

It doesn’t turn filthy as much as it starts out that way, their kisses wet and deep. Alexei goes with it for a few minutes, then uses his weight to bully him towards the bed while simultaneously shoving Kent’s jacket off his shoulders. It’s hot as fuck, even if Kent nearly trips while toeing off his shoes, only saved by a laughing Alexei quickly winding an arm around his waist.

**_**__** _ **

“Thanks,” Kent murmurs against the corner of his mouth, and Alexei mumbles back, “Welcome,” before pushing Kent down on the bed.

**_**__** _ **

They undress quickly, without fanfare, because Kent’s too keyed up for slow and sweet right now, and Alexei seems to be as well. Kent lets out a breathless, “Oomph,” when Alexei flops down on top of him, but curls his arms around Alexei’s neck, tugging, just in case his erection poking at Alexei’s stomach is, somehow, not enough of an indication that Kent’s really into this whole getting manhandled thing. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei kisses up Kent’s throat, until he reaches the hinge of his jaw, where he bites down gently. “What you want, Kent? What you like?” 

**_**__** _ **

Kent shivers, nudging his nose into Alexei’s cheek until Alexei lifts his head enough to kiss again. “You should fuck me.”

**_**__** _ **

Because Kent’s gotten a glimpse of what Alexei’s packing, and he definitely likes what he saw. 

**_**__** _ **

“Shit,” Alexei groans, and buries his face in Kent’s neck for a moment, before sitting back. 

**_**__** _ **

He looks debauched already, hair sticking up on one side, lips swollen and red, and pupils blown wide. Kent can’t help himself, reaches for him again, smearing their mouths together. “Do you have stuff?”

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s legs are wobbly when he gets up to go rummage through his suitcase, which is satisfying to see, but then he bends over, and Kent gets distracted ogling his backside. Hockey asses really are a blessing.

**_**__** _ **

It’s been a while for Kent, which means he’s extra sensitive, much to Alexei’s apparent delight. He takes a few minutes to play and tease, rubbing lube-slick fingers up and down between Kent’s cheeks, over his hole, but never in. It has Kent trembling and breathing hard in no time, fingers digging hard into Alexei’s shoulders, urging him on. 

**_**__** _ **

When Alexei finally pushes in the tip of his first finger, it’s only his other hand, low on Kent’s stomach, that keeps Kent’s hips from bucking up off the bed. “Ssh, stay,” he instructs, teasing, tongue poking out playfully. Kent swats at him, but it’s weak, and interrupted by a long, drawn out moan when Alexei pushes his finger in fully. 

**_**__** _ **

It doesn’t take long for Kent to demand a second finger, which Alexei is happy to give him, alternating between scissoring them, and pushing them in deep. Alexei’s fingers are longer than Kent’s, and thicker, too, the stretch from two already shooting little bolts of pleasure up Kent’s spine. When Alexei brushes them over his prostate, Kent chokes, and has to grab his wrist to tug his hand back just a little. 

**_**__** _ **

“Feels too good,” Kent admits, a little embarrassed, at Alexei’s worried look. “Want to come with you inside me.” 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei swears in Russian, but nods quickly, fumbling for the condom that’s slipped between the sheets somewhere. He shushes Kent softly when he has to pull his fingers out to roll it down his cock, and laughs breathily when Kent wiggles his ass impatiently. 

**_**__** _ **

“How do you want me?” 

**_**__** _ **

Licking his lips, Alexei looks Kent over, head tilted. “Like this, here,” he decides after a moment, and shuffles closer, kneeling between Kent’s spread legs. 

**_**__** _ **

He lifts Kent’s lower half up, into his lap, and tugs at Kent’s legs until he wraps them around Alexei’s waist. Then he leans forward, folding Kent back until they’re almost nose to nose. He smiles, pecking Kent on the lips. “Okay?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent hums in the affirmative, not sure he’s up for actual words. Alexei’s heavy and warm on top of him, caging Kent in, making him feel small in the best way possible. It’s a rush, to know Alexei’s the one in control, that Kent can let go, will be caught if he lets himself fall.

**_**__** _ **

“Okay.” Alexei rubs their noses together, smiling, before moving back just enough so he can reach between them. 

**_**__** _ **

There’s pressure against Kent’s hole, for just a few seconds until the head of Alexei’s cock pops inside, making them both moan. Then both of Alexei’s hands are on Kent’s hips, tilting them up as he slides in, slow but steady. It burns, just a little, and Kent loves it, moving into it until Alexei bottoms out, flush against Kent. 

**_**__** _ **

Kent only has a second to adjust to how full he is before Alexei pulls back out, then slams back in again, hard. Kent groans, and Alexei surges forward to bring their lips together, licking into Kent’s mouth as he sets a fast, powerful rhythm that punches desperate little _ah_ s and _oh_ s out of Kent with every snap of Alexei’s hips. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s big enough that Kent’s prostate is stimulated almost constantly, and he can feel his dick dribble precum, his balls tight and heavy already. Alexei goes to reach for Kent’s erection, but Kent shakes his head, manages to stammer out, “Don’t—don’t need it. Wanna come from—just from this.”

**_**__** _ **

“Kill me, Kent,” Alexei groans, his thrusts faltering for just a moment, before he redoubles his efforts. 

**_**__** _ **

And Kent can’t do much but hold on, whining and digging his heels into Alexei’s back while the pressure inside him builds and builds, until he finally tips over the edge with a shout of Alexei’s name. Which seems to spur Alexei on even more, his movements growing faster, almost erratic, before he stills, pressed as deep into Kent as he’ll go, biting down on Kent’s shoulder, and moaning loudly as he shudders through his own orgasm.

**_**__** _ **

They’re both sweaty and panting, Alexei lazily nuzzling the spot he bit while Kent is floating, high on endorphins. He makes a grumbly noise of protest when Alexei eventually heaves himself up with a grunt, slipping out of Kent in the process. 

**_**__** _ **

“Sorry, sorry,” Alexei mumbles apologetically. He brushes some of the damp hair away from Kent’s forehead, then kisses the flushed skin. “How you feel? Okay? Not hurt?”

**_**__** _ **

“‘M amazin’,” Kent slurs, making Alexei laugh, and kiss the top of his head. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei keeps running his fingers through Kent’s hair for a little while, occasionally pressing his lips to whatever part of Kent’s face he can reach. It’s sweet, and nice, and enough to have Kent slowly start to doze off, only disturbed when Alexei moves away to get up. Kent frowns, squinting open an eye to see Alexei walk into the bathroom. Sighing, he rolls over, and burrows into the warm sheets where Alexei’d been lying. 

**_**__** _ **

He means to get up and dressed, just as soon as he can feel his legs again, but Alexei’s back before that happens, knee-walking back up the bed. Kent jumps at the first touch of the washcloth to the small of his back, flailing a foot at Alexei when Alexei chuckles. Alexei catches it, still laughing quietly, thumb rubbing over Kent’s ankle.

**_**__** _ **

“Come on, roll, let me finish clean.” 

**_**__** _ **

“Ugh,” Kent complains, but does as told, and lets Alexei gently wipe down his front, too. 

**_**__** _ **

Once he’s done, Alexei chucks the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom, and lies back down next to Kent. He pulls at him, rearranging Kent’s limbs to his liking, until Kent’s head is resting on his shoulder, one of his legs across both of Alexei’s. 

**_**__** _ **

“I actually live here, you know,” Kent points out, “I could go home.”

**_**__** _ **

He doesn’t make a move to get up, though, tilting his head to kiss Alexei’s chin. Alexei hums contentedly, and, Kent’s pleased to notice, tightens the arm he has around Kent. “Or could stay.”

**_**__** _ **

“Or that,” Kent agrees, and closes his eyes, smiling against Alexei’s neck.

**_**__** _ **

It’s barely light out when Kent wakes up in the morning, confused about where he is for a second before he sees Alexei crouched next to the bed, one big, warm hand on Kent’s arm. 

**_**__** _ **

“Flight is soon,” Alexei whispers, stroking his hand down to squeeze Kent’s hand. “I have room until noon, can sleep little longer if want. But I’m not want leave without say goodbye.” He smiles, sheepish. “Sorry for wake up.”

**_**__** _ **

“No, it’s fine,” Kent manages around a yawn, blinking sleepily. Grinning a little, he adds, “I’ll totally take you up on that offer, though. Thanks.”

**_**__** _ **

“Most welcome.” Alexei shuffles closer, and ducks down to quickly kiss Kent. “Was good night, lots of fun. Thank you.”

**_**__** _ **

“Thank you,” Kent says, leering, which makes Alexei snort, and dart in for another brief kiss. 

**_**__** _ **

He watches, eyes half-lidded, as Alexei does one last sweep of the room to make sure he’s got everything, before grabbing his bag. He unlocks the door, places the key card on the desk for Kent later, and then, with one last, dorky little wave at Kent, he’s gone.

**_**__** _ **

Kent yawns again, burritos himself in the sheets, and goes back to sleep, feeling good about himself.

**_**__** _ **

Lots of fun, indeed. 

****

*** * ***

Alexei’s first text arrives three days after their night together. Kent reads it as he’s walking out of the gym, freezing mid-step once his brain actually processes what he’s seeing, and he realises who it’s from. He nearly drops his phone when Swoops walks into his back, then shoves at him, and snarks, “Move it, Parser. Or are you too tired? Can’t keep up with me, huh?” 

He steps around Kent, flexing his arms and waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously, like the total tool he is. And Kent just has to put him in a headlock for that—or try to, at least, even though Swoops is nearly a head taller, and a fucking cheater to boot—so he shoves his phone back into his pocket, and jumps on Swoops back in what he knows already will be a futile attempt to make up for their height difference. 

**_**__** _ **

As soon as he’s home, though, and has made himself a protein smoothie, Kent flops down on the couch, and reads the message again.

**_**__** _ **

**_hi, is alexei. i’m ask jack for your number, hope you not mind))))_ **

**_**__** _ **

The thing is, Kent hadn’t expected to hear from Alexei again. He’s slept with other athletes before, once or twice, and they’d always had a silent, mutual understanding that things would be casual, that they would move on the next morning, and never speak of it again. Scratching an itch with someone in a similar situation is as safe as it can get, and Kent had assumed that’s what Alexei was going for, too; that extra reassurance that the other person will be quiet and discreet about it, unwilling to risk exposing himself as well. 

**_**__** _ **

Not that anything in Alexei’s text implies that he’s looking for a repeat performance, but Kent hadn’t really counted on them becoming something more than fleeting acquaintances, either. He hems and haws for a couple of minutes, absently petting Kit’s back when she jumps up onto his stomach, trying to decide if and how to reply. 

**_**__** _ **

**_It’s fine, I don’t mind._**

**_**__** _ **

He stares at that for a second, wondering if it sounds too dismissive. It’s not exactly a conversation starter—or a conversation continuer—but before he can question himself too much, Alexei starts typing. 

**_**__** _ **

**_very glad))) i’m being puppy bed right now, hahaha_ **

**_**__** _ **

And, sure enough, there’s a picture attached of Alexei with an adorable black lab puppy sprawled out across his chest, all tuckered out. Kent coos, then shoots a guilty glance at Kit, who’s definitely judging him.

**_**__** _ **

To make up for cheating on her with another pet, he pulls her closer, and snaps a picture of himself kissing the top of her fuzzy head to send back to Alexei.

**_**__** _ **

**_Very cute. Kit’s cuter, though, sorry. I don’t make the rules._ **

**_**__** _ **

Kit rubs her face against his cheek for a moment before getting up, stretching, and curling up on his crotch. Kent winces, and wiggles around—much to her dismay—until she isn’t lying directly on his dick anymore. When he looks back at his phone, Alexei has replied already.

**_**__** _ **

**_you cutest!!!!!_ **

**_**__** _ **

Kent blinks, rereads it, but no. That’s really what it says. And Alexei’s even added a winking emoji, a proper one, not the eyeless parentheses kind Kent knows the Russians are so fond of.

**_**__** _ **

But then he sends another picture of the puppy, awake and chewing on the string of his sweatpants now, and starts talking about his adventures dog-sitting for Snowy, and, well. A dude can call another dude cute after giving him good dick without it being weird, right?

**_**__** _ **

Right. Probably. 

**_**__** _ **

So, that’s how it starts. They keep texting after that, a constant stream of pictures, random thoughts, and lame chirps. The longer it keeps going, the more personal the texts get, until they’re talking about Kent’s short-lived foray into and spectacular failure at creative writing in middle school, or what Alexei’s going to buy his parents for their anniversary, or Kent’s fears of still not being a good enough captain, especially for the veterans on his team, some of which have more than a decade on him. 

**_**__** _ **

**_silly kent! amazing captain and very kind person, always try hardest! best!))))_ **

**_**__** _ **

Kent bites his lip when he reads that, trying very hard not to smile. Or, even worse, blush. 

**_**__** _ **

It’s not the flirtiest thing Alexei’s ever texted him, but still. It could be read that way, if Kent wanted to read something less innocent into it. Which he shouldn’t do, Kent is extremely aware of that, but he can’t always stop himself; he genuinely likes Alexei, they still get along great, he definitely thinks Alexei’s gorgeous, and he already knows Alexei’s great in bed. 

**_**__** _ **

But Alexei isn’t out. Which isn’t a requirement for them to be friends—or something else, Kent’s traitorous brain supplies immediately—but, combined with the vagueness of all of Alexei’s maybe-flirty texts, it makes Kent a little wary. 

**_**__** _ **

What if he really only is imagining it? What if Alexei’s just being his usual, friendly self? Russians are more, like, emotional and stuff, right? And if he means it, if he actually is flirting, why is he being so goddamn inconsistent and complicated about it? 

**_**__** _ **

Kent could deal with fucking, or seeing, or—well, dating someone who’s in the closet, that’s not the problem. He has zero desire to be part of some hot-and-cold arrangement, though, or to end up with a guy who can’t even admit to himself that he’s into men. Which isn’t the impression Alexei’d given him, but it’s sort of hard to tell, especially with the cryptic texting bullshit. 

**_**__** _ **

“You look like you’re taking a really painful shit,” Beau says, leaning over the back of the armchair Kent’s lounging in. He grins when Kent lets out a startled yelp, and ruffles Kent’s hair. “What’s bothering you, baby bro?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent glowers at him, but happily takes Valentina when Beau holds her out to him. He tucks her against his chest, and pushes his nose into her hair, breathing in her warm, milky baby scent. “Don’t be a dick, or I’ll tell Ana María that you’re swearing in front of the kids again.”

**_**__** _ **

Beau rolls his eyes as he sits down on the couch, propping his feet up on the arm of Kent’s chair. “She’s seven months old, she has no idea what I’m saying.” He uses one of the feet now conveniently close to Kent’s arm to nudge at him. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

**_**__** _ **

The noncommittal way Kent shrugs earns him another toe poke. “Is it the guy again? It’s the guy again, isn’t it?”

**_**__** _ **

“You’re the literal worst,” Kent groans, but doesn’t deny it. 

**_**__** _ **

Beau might be an asshole sometimes—which, according to him, is his right as an older brother—but he’s the person who knows Kent best, the one who’s had his back, through all of Kent’s ups and downs, the one Kent can always count on. And he can always tell when something’s up with Kent, even over the phone or via text. It’s actually a little creepy sometimes.

**_**__** _ **

It had taken Beau all of two weeks to get it out of Kent that he’d hooked up the night of the awards, that he’s still talking to the guy, and that he has no idea where they stand with each other. Well. Beau calls it pining, but Beau obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so. 

**_**__** _ **

“I’ll figure it out,” Kent says, eventually, by which he means he’ll continue to do nothing about the situation, and hope it’ll resolve itself in time.

**_**__** _ **

Beau clearly knows exactly what Kent’s thinking, but, thankfully, Ana María calls for him to come set the table before he can start pressing the issue. He does pin Kent with a look that promises they’ll talk about it some more, though, so Kent sticks his tongue out at him, and grins smugly at the offended face Beau pulls when he realises he can’t hit Kent while he’s holding his daughter. 

**_**__** _ **

Valentina stirs when Kent gets up, blinking at him, and smacking her lips. It’s really fucking cute, so Kent quickly takes a picture for Alexei.

**_**__** _ **

**_Older brothers suck. Good thing he has an adorable baby. <3 _ **

**_**__** _ **

Dinner, as usual, is pure chaos with five kids under the age of ten wanting to bed fed and entertained all at the same time, all at once. It’s nothing like what Kent’s evenings are like when he’s at home, alone, during the season, and he basks in it, trying to soak up as much of it as he can. 

**_**__** _ **

Ana María has a strict no phones at the table rule, which means Kent doesn’t check his again until he’s upstairs in the guest room after helping with the dishes, and remembers he should plug his in before going to bed. When he does, he has a string of texts from Alexei waiting for him. 

**_**__** _ **

**_!!!cutest!!!_ **

**_**__** _ **

**_don’t have picture of niece, only brothers, but they both ugly_ **

**_**__** _ **

**_i always imagine everyone in parson family be blond, hahaha_ **

**_**__** _ **

Alexei talks about his parents, his brothers, and his little niece all the time, but Kent has been pretty tight-lipped about his own family so far. Alexei had stopped asking after the first few times, clearly picking up on Kent’s reluctance. And Kent knows he doesn’t owe Alexei anything, details or an explanation, but he also knows that he could tell him. And that Alexei wouldn’t judge, or be a dick about it. 

**_**__** _ **

He taps his phone against the palm of his hand, worrying at the inside of his cheek. Then he takes a deep breath, and starts typing. 

**_**__** _ **

**_Beau, my brother, is blond, too. His wife’s Mexican, though, and all of the kids take after her, which is awesome, because she’s gorgeous, and he’s an ugly shit. I actually have four other half-siblings, but we don’t talk. My bio dad had an affair with my mom, but she didn’t know he was married already. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me when I was born, and mom was too ashamed to sue him for child support or anything._ **

**_**__** _ **

**_I have a foster sister, too, because my mom got cancer when I was about eight, and died a couple of months later. We don’t talk much anymore, but we send each other Xmas cards, stuff like that. Beau’s really the only one I’m close with. He reached out when I got drafted. He actually recognised me because we look so much alike, he confronted his dad and everything, even though they hadn’t been talking for ages at that point. His whole family pretty much disowned him when he married Ana María because she’s Mexican. They’re all fucking awful people._ **

**_**__** _ **

**_Also, sorry for the wall of text. And for, like, vomiting my terrible family history all over you._ **

**_**__** _ **

**_But I just wanted you to know._ **

**_**__** _ **

Kent’s hands are shaking when he’s done, and he quickly puts his phone away. He never really talks about any of this, with anyone. Jack knows about his mom, and the people from PR got the short version of the whole story to better be able to keep it all under wraps, but that’s it. 

**_**__** _ **

But now Alexei knows, too. 

**_**__** _ **

Kent doesn’t dare touch his phone again until the next morning. Alexei has replied, of course, and Kent’s oddly nervous about reading the text. Then he shakes his head, and tells himself not to be stupid, and thumbs it open.

**_**__** _ **

**_wow, that is lots of suck. so sorry kent((( but is their loss if not want to meet. you best and if they not realise then they dumb anyway. fuck them. you deserve only best!!!_ **

**_**__** _ **

Kent has to bury his face in his pillow to hide his flaming face, even though he’s alone in his room. 

**_**__** _ **

God-fucking-damnit, Alexei. 

*** * ***

By the end of training camp, the frequency of Kent and Alexei’s conversations has dropped to one or two texts every week. It’s not entirely surprising—the last push of getting ready for a new season always takes a lot out of everyone—but Kent finds himself missing it. Missing Alexei, suddenly, even though they haven’t talked in person in over three months.

**_**__** _ **

He does his best to shake it off and focus on hockey, keep himself busy by spending time with the rookies, but he knows he doesn’t quite pull it off. Swoops keeps shooting him worried glances, and then, when Kent refuses to talk about it, puts a group together to go out for beers after the last day of camp. 

**_**__** _ **

And it does help, a little, to be with his team, getting ready and hyped. 

**_**__** _ **

Kent doesn’t forget that one of their preseason games will be in Providence, though. When he mentions it to Alexei a couple of days before they fly in, all he gets back is a quip about how the Falcs will obviously beat the Aces. Kent has no idea what to do with that. 

**_**__** _ **

So, he thinks, he has every right to be surprised when Alexei texts him the morning of the game, asking when Kent’s flight back is, and if he’s free to go out afterwards. A small, responsible part of Kent wants to say no, because it’s probably a terrible idea to put himself in Alexei’s presence after months of not-pining. A much bigger, gut-steered part immediately texts back that he’d like that, though. 

**_**__** _ **

He’s in good spirits after the game, a tight but well earned victory for the Aces, showering as fast as possible, and ignoring the suspicious stare from Swoops. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei is waiting in the hallway when Kent steps out of the change room, but he isn’t alone. He’s talking in low Russian to an older couple, standing next to two equally tall guys, and a beautiful woman with a toddler on her hip. He brought his family, Kent realises, but before he can decide if he should ditch, the woman—Alexei’s mother, shit—spots him, shortly followed by the rest of the Mashkovs. 

**_**__** _ **

“Kent!” Alexei’s face splits into a wide smile at the sight of Kent, and this time, Kent’s prepared for the hug that nearly lifts him off his feet. “So good to see!”

**_**__** _ **

“Yeah,” Kent says weakly, into Alexei’s shoulder, “you, too, man.” 

**_**__** _ **

One of Alexei’s brothers says something in Russian. Kent doesn’t understand it, but he can read the tone, and it’s clearly teasing. He gets his confirmation when Alexei releases him to flip his brother off, the tips of his ears slightly pink. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s mother sighs, long-suffering, and takes Kent’s arm, starting to walk them towards the garage. “Come, leave them,” she says, before trailing off into exasperated Russian.

**_**__** _ **

They take Kent to a Russian restaurant across town, which has the second best beef stew, according to Alexei. With the best being his mother’s, of course. Kent gets the chair between Alexei and his younger brother, Maxim, who speaks the most English after Alexei. Ilya, Alexei’s older brother, his wife Anna, and their daughter Natasha take the opposite side of the table, with Alexei’s parents at each end. 

**_**__** _ **

The food is delicious, as promised, and Kent stops feeling awkward about halfway through his first glass of wine. Everyone’s very intent on including him, despite the language barrier, with Max and Alexei translating as much as possible. Although Kent suspects Max is talking shit, going by the way Alexei sometimes scowls at him, and their father’s frequent, amused eyerolls.

**_**__** _ **

By dessert, Kent has charmed Natasha into his lap by showing her the tattoos on his arms, and then letting her colour them in with the markers a waitress brings them. Anna is taking pictures of them, cooing over them with her husband, while Max steals forkfuls of Kent’s cake because Kent can’t defend it with Natasha pulling and pushing at him. Alexei’s parents are watching them, now sitting next to each other with their hands clasped, and Alexei—

**_**__** _ **

Alexei has an arm on the back of Kent’s chair, and his knee pressed against Kent’s, and is looking at Kent with soft eyes, and a smile on his lips. 

**_**__** _ **

“Sorry, uh.” Kent clears his throat, apologising when he has to dislodge Natasha to shift her into Max’s lap. “I need—uh, bathroom, I’ll be right back. Sorry.”

**_**__** _ **

He never makes it there, slumping against the wall outside of the main dining room instead. And then Alexei’s there a moment later, because of course he’d follow Kent, looking all shy, and concerned, and so fucking good, fuck.

**_**__** _ **

“Kent? What wrong? You okay?” 

**_**__** _ **

Kent whirls on him, and pokes him in the chest, then uses that finger to point back at the dining room. “What is this, Alexei? What are you doing? What am I doing here?” 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s eyes are wide, startled. “Is dinner?”

**_**__** _ **

“Oh, c’mon,” Kent mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes, I got as much, thank you. Dinner with your family. Why am I meeting your family?”

**_**__** _ **

And now, Alexei looks guilty, which means they’re getting somewhere. Still, he tries to evade by asking, “Not like family?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent pokes him again. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it. This is—Alexei, this is—I can’t—what do you want from me?” Alexei opens his mouth, but Kent’s on a roll, talking right over him. “Because I can’t keep doing this—this thing where I’m wondering all the time, where you can’t decide what you want. You can’t keep doing this, okay? You can’t flirt, and bring me to meet your family like—like we’re a thing, when you never fucking told me if that’s even what you want.” He has to take a deep breath, and then he admits, quieter, “I don’t know what you want from me. And it hurts, okay?” 

**_**__** _ **

“Kent.” Alexei’s voice is soft, trembling ever so slightly. He hooks a finger under Kent’s chin, lifting it so their eyes meet, then cradles Kent’s face in that hand. “Want. I’m want so much, want everything.”

**_**__** _ **

“You never said,” Kent points out, stubborn. “Why didn’t you say?” 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei closes his eyes with a sigh, and lowers his head to rest his forehead against Kent’s. “Not sure if you want. Scared because I’m want so much. Scared for family also, still in Russia. Have to wait for visa before I can fly them here, take time. Is messy. But want to, because not want to hide forever. Not sure what happen if get out that I have crush on Aces captain. ” 

**_**__** _ **

Kent rubs his nose against Alexei’s cheek. “Crush, huh?”

**_**__** _ **

“Big crush,” Alexei says, going for serious, but his mouth is twitching tellingly. “Biggest crush. Hugest.” 

**_**__** _ **

“That’s not a word, you know,” Kent says, and laughs at Alexei’s exaggerated pout. “So. What is it that you wanna do about that big, huge crush?”

**_**__** _ **

“Well,” Alexei drawls, drawn out, hands settling on Kent’s hips. “Have plan, yes? Perfect plan. Take hugest crush to best restaurant to meet family. Give good food, good time, make remember how good we be together. Then take home for nightcap,” here he waggles his eyebrows, because he still is a giant dork, “and ask to date. To be boyfriend. Have lots more dinners here, in Vegas. Lots more kisses, lots more sex. Be happy together.” 

**_**__** _ **

“That is a good plan,” Kent allows.

**_**__** _ **

Alexei beams, proud. “Working?”

**_**__** _ **

Instead of answering, Kent kisses him. 

****

*** * ***

“Uh, Parser?”

**_**__** _ **

Kent looks up at the weird hesitation in Swoops’ voice, eyebrows shooting up when he sees almost half the team rallied behind Swoops. He puts down the weights he’s been using, gets up from the bench, and narrows his eyes at the bunch of them. “What happened? What did you do?”

**_**__** _ **

“Why do you automatically assume I—” Swoops starts, offended, before he shakes his head, and waves a hand. “No, you know what, we don’t have time for this. Why didn’t you tell us?”

**_**__** _ **

Before Kent can ask what the hell he’s talking about, Swoops shoves his phone at Kent, already open to Instagram. Kent has to grab his wrist and pull his hand back a little so he can actually see the screen. 

**_**__** _ **

And then he blushes bright red, because oh. That’s—yeah. Oh.

**_**__** _ **

Kent’s known about Alexei’s tentative coming out plans for most of the season, has known that he was talking with Falcs PR to avoid another Zimmermann incident, and has agreed to make their relationship public while they’re at it. He didn’t know Alexei was going to do it like this, though, and he doesn’t think it’s any more PR approved than Jack’s post-Cup kiss was. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s posted a picture about half an hour ago, one that Kent actually hasn’t seen before. Or even known existed, until now. Alexei must’ve taken it the last time Kent stayed the night at his house when the Aces had a game in Providence, the sneaky fucker. 

**_**__** _ **

In it, Kent’s sitting in the breakfast nook in Alexei’s kitchen, warm early morning light shining in through the huge windows. Kent has his eyes closed, head tipped back against the wall, a small, soft smile on his lips as he breathes in the steam from a fresh cup of coffee. All of which would be innocent enough, maybe, if Kent wasn’t wearing a giant Mashkov jersey that’s slipping off one shoulder, and drawing the viewers’ focus to the huge, dark hickey and stubble burn on Kent’s neck. 

**_**__** _ **

The fact that Alexei has captioned it **_cutest boyfriend!!!)))))))_** is pretty incriminating, too.

**_**__** _ **

“—a heads-up, for crying out loud, I was in the middle of an interview when someone showed it to me,” Swoops is still ranting, free hand on his hip, flustered.

**_**__** _ **

Artemi, one of their rookies, mutters something dark-sounding in Russian. Kent frowns at him, because he doesn’t know the kid all that well yet, and his Russian’s still fairly shitty, despite Alexei’s best efforts. When he sees Kent looking at him, Artemi switches to English, grumbling, “Enemy jersey. If you want Russian jersey, I give one of mine, да?”

**_**__** _ **

A few of the guys start snickering at that, which makes Swoops turn to glare and point at them. “Hey, no! Stop laughing!” He looks back at Kent, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know I love you, man, but I need to mentally, or, like, emotionally prepare myself before I can look at pictures of you being all sex-glowy, okay?” 

**_**__** _ **

Kent snorts, shaking his head. And then, because the one thing he loves more than this group of idiots is messing with this group of idiots, he asks, faux-innocent, “So. I shouldn’t tell you that the jersey’s actually all I’m wearing, or?”

**_**__** _ **

Someone starts choking on a laugh, Artmei switches back to Russian, and Swoops groans dramatically as Kent heads past them to go get his phone. 

**_**__** _ **

Alexei’s definitely going to get a kick out of this.

**_**__** _ **


End file.
